I love being together even in the smallest ways. Offering our hearts to our own life and the lives of eachother.
So, here is a way I have been practicing ina whole hearted fashion of radically saying Yes to what’s here: and here is an example , last Saturday I read up about the meeting between the trump admin and Pres Zelensky. It was late and just before bedtime I was alone in a quiet Airbnb far from home. As I lay there on the bed, I asked what’s here? With open curiosity, I noticed nausea, a dark sharp sinking pit in my stomach, some tightness in my chest and a mildly rapid heartbeat. Lingering here for a moment with kindness and tenderness, allowing for a stretch of space and time, . Then I asked what else is here now? What’s pleasant or neutral? The soft pillows and crisp sheets, the whirl of the electric heater and the stillness in the air felt sweet ushered in relaxation and ease. I pivoted back to the belly and noticed that the sensations were much more spacious, and then back to the soft pillows rhythmicly pendulating. I fell deep asleep
Giving birth to my first child was long and hard but I was determined to (and did) journey through it naturally and without any intervention or medications. I went jnto that experience curious about how much discomfort and suffering I could handle, and when it got crazy, my midwife (who spent hours on her rocking chair, knitting and telling me I was ok) taught me to visualize the discomfort. She helped me think about putting the pain on exhaled breath, and as my breath left me, to imagine it as a long spiral connected to me but unfurling into space in ever-widening arcs. By thinking of suffering as something I could see, maybe even touch and turn over, and as something that was connected to me but also was NOT me, I learned to get curious about it and examine its edges and limits. I still use that technique. When something feels tortuous, I sometimes breathe it out and wonder what shape it is as I look at it, tethered to me but also its own thing. And sometimes when I’ve imagined its shape, I can then play with it a little, interrogating where its boundaries are, how heavy it is, what it wants to tell me. Sometimes that can help me stay with something for a little longer than I’d be otherwise able to.
Dearest Kasia, reading your words brought me into a deeper sense of attention of how much I love you. Your generosity and willingness to be in the real waves—with all the sorrows and joys is awesome. I remember walking with you in Bath (35 years ago?) and stopping on a road and looking at a log and noticing together how it was decaying and giving life at the same time. Allowing all of it is the way. Big love, Koshin
One of the ways I practice with overwhelm is to listen to the birds. At the same time I feel such intense sensations in my body and in my heart, I can hear the singing of the birds and the wind in the chimes. I practice noticing that, YES, there is overwhelm and also there are so many other things happening at the same time. Thank you Koshin Sensei for all that you offer... now more than ever. Deep bows and much gratitude, of you and for the 360* practice!
Dear Serena, How beautiful! Love imaging you listening to the birds. Your words remind me of this poem I love called "Zazen on Ching-t’ing Mountain" by Li Bai (Translated By Sam Hamill)
The birds have vanished down the sky.
Now the last cloud drains away.
We sit together, the mountain and me,
until only the mountain remains.
May we continue to practice with our overwhelm and tenderness together.
The Monster At The End of this book tugs my heart strings. My dad read this to us throughout my childhood. 🫶
As for attention, I used to dread flying. I would only focus on my fear and sense of dread. Since I began practicing mindfulness meditation, I’ve started broadening my attention while flying and have realized how much I love the sensations of taking off and landing.
Through this reframe, flying has become an other-wordly experience. I am reminded of the delicious feelings in my younger self’s belly when on a rollercoaster or parasailing. The spaciousness and expansive view of the world is a gift. Thank you for another beautiful reflection piece.
Dear Jennifer, How tender to remember your dad reading Monster at the End of the Book! I so appreciate how you are sharing bringing what has been healing and pleasurable into spaces that have induced fear. Good medicine! Blessings, Koshin
My favorite practice is sitting down with homeless people and hearing their stories. Such interesting folks! I wish I could help them financially, but becoming friends with some of them is priceless! They have had such incredible lives BEFORE becoming homeless! (And after, too, of course. People treat them horribly!)
This was very timely. Events in the political world are constant and frightening. I often expect Zen to show me the way out of my anxiety. I am so hopeful that I miss the words, connections and practices which might actually help. I felt this way Tuesday morning after seeing a well-known reporter look completely drained as she spoke of these events. I felt the need for some NYCZC wisdom and watched Monday night's talk. I was so glad that it was Koshin and the wonderful story of the birth of the Zen Center and the commitment of Koshin and Chodo. I sent a donation--I want and need this work to continue. Thank you and Chodo for the Sunday message/sermon and the Monday talk. Peace and Blessings to us all.
Dear Audrey, I am so moved by your words. This is one of the many reasons why I love coming together to practice. I too find left to my own small mind, I get into some strange weeds. So touched and delighted that we have the opportunity to practice together. Blessings, Koshin
Beautiful teaching and I am grateful for the questions that are being asked. When I am wanting to escape what I am thinking or feeling I try to hold my seat by grabbing onto the impermanence of it . I also find that asking myself if there is truth in what I’m thinking or feeling is very helpful. Sometimes it is partially true and sometimes it’s totally untrue! In which case I can shift my perception of what I’m experiencing or drop it altogether.
Dear Tammy, So appreciating you and your reflections! I love asking "what else is true," after I think anything is true. So many things are true at the same time. I find this practice we share to be so enlivening! Blessings, Koshin
I have been working with chronic pain. In our culture, we often get the message to take a pill to stop the pain. We have medicine cabinets full of anti inflammatory medications, analgesics, and sleep aids. Instead of grabbing medication, I have been becoming curious about the pain in my hips and legs. When is it most intense? When does it subside? What is my reaction to the pain subsiding? One thing I have been saying to myself is: Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.
Dear Koshin and Sangha,
I love being together even in the smallest ways. Offering our hearts to our own life and the lives of eachother.
So, here is a way I have been practicing ina whole hearted fashion of radically saying Yes to what’s here: and here is an example , last Saturday I read up about the meeting between the trump admin and Pres Zelensky. It was late and just before bedtime I was alone in a quiet Airbnb far from home. As I lay there on the bed, I asked what’s here? With open curiosity, I noticed nausea, a dark sharp sinking pit in my stomach, some tightness in my chest and a mildly rapid heartbeat. Lingering here for a moment with kindness and tenderness, allowing for a stretch of space and time, . Then I asked what else is here now? What’s pleasant or neutral? The soft pillows and crisp sheets, the whirl of the electric heater and the stillness in the air felt sweet ushered in relaxation and ease. I pivoted back to the belly and noticed that the sensations were much more spacious, and then back to the soft pillows rhythmicly pendulating. I fell deep asleep
So lovely to hear from you Moira! So appreciate you and all that you shared. Blessings, Koshin
Giving birth to my first child was long and hard but I was determined to (and did) journey through it naturally and without any intervention or medications. I went jnto that experience curious about how much discomfort and suffering I could handle, and when it got crazy, my midwife (who spent hours on her rocking chair, knitting and telling me I was ok) taught me to visualize the discomfort. She helped me think about putting the pain on exhaled breath, and as my breath left me, to imagine it as a long spiral connected to me but unfurling into space in ever-widening arcs. By thinking of suffering as something I could see, maybe even touch and turn over, and as something that was connected to me but also was NOT me, I learned to get curious about it and examine its edges and limits. I still use that technique. When something feels tortuous, I sometimes breathe it out and wonder what shape it is as I look at it, tethered to me but also its own thing. And sometimes when I’ve imagined its shape, I can then play with it a little, interrogating where its boundaries are, how heavy it is, what it wants to tell me. Sometimes that can help me stay with something for a little longer than I’d be otherwise able to.
Dearest Kasia, reading your words brought me into a deeper sense of attention of how much I love you. Your generosity and willingness to be in the real waves—with all the sorrows and joys is awesome. I remember walking with you in Bath (35 years ago?) and stopping on a road and looking at a log and noticing together how it was decaying and giving life at the same time. Allowing all of it is the way. Big love, Koshin
One of the ways I practice with overwhelm is to listen to the birds. At the same time I feel such intense sensations in my body and in my heart, I can hear the singing of the birds and the wind in the chimes. I practice noticing that, YES, there is overwhelm and also there are so many other things happening at the same time. Thank you Koshin Sensei for all that you offer... now more than ever. Deep bows and much gratitude, of you and for the 360* practice!
Dear Serena, How beautiful! Love imaging you listening to the birds. Your words remind me of this poem I love called "Zazen on Ching-t’ing Mountain" by Li Bai (Translated By Sam Hamill)
The birds have vanished down the sky.
Now the last cloud drains away.
We sit together, the mountain and me,
until only the mountain remains.
May we continue to practice with our overwhelm and tenderness together.
Blessings, Koshin
Thank you so much for this, Koshin Sensei. I started my day with this reading and what could be better?
What a joy to start our days with reading and doing nourishing activity! Sweet to hear this newsletter is in that company! 🙏🏽
The Monster At The End of this book tugs my heart strings. My dad read this to us throughout my childhood. 🫶
As for attention, I used to dread flying. I would only focus on my fear and sense of dread. Since I began practicing mindfulness meditation, I’ve started broadening my attention while flying and have realized how much I love the sensations of taking off and landing.
Through this reframe, flying has become an other-wordly experience. I am reminded of the delicious feelings in my younger self’s belly when on a rollercoaster or parasailing. The spaciousness and expansive view of the world is a gift. Thank you for another beautiful reflection piece.
Dear Jennifer, How tender to remember your dad reading Monster at the End of the Book! I so appreciate how you are sharing bringing what has been healing and pleasurable into spaces that have induced fear. Good medicine! Blessings, Koshin
My favorite practice is sitting down with homeless people and hearing their stories. Such interesting folks! I wish I could help them financially, but becoming friends with some of them is priceless! They have had such incredible lives BEFORE becoming homeless! (And after, too, of course. People treat them horribly!)
Dear Nancy, thank you for sharing your practice of being human with humans. Such tenderness! Blessings, Koshin
This was very timely. Events in the political world are constant and frightening. I often expect Zen to show me the way out of my anxiety. I am so hopeful that I miss the words, connections and practices which might actually help. I felt this way Tuesday morning after seeing a well-known reporter look completely drained as she spoke of these events. I felt the need for some NYCZC wisdom and watched Monday night's talk. I was so glad that it was Koshin and the wonderful story of the birth of the Zen Center and the commitment of Koshin and Chodo. I sent a donation--I want and need this work to continue. Thank you and Chodo for the Sunday message/sermon and the Monday talk. Peace and Blessings to us all.
Dear Audrey, I am so moved by your words. This is one of the many reasons why I love coming together to practice. I too find left to my own small mind, I get into some strange weeds. So touched and delighted that we have the opportunity to practice together. Blessings, Koshin
Beautiful teaching and I am grateful for the questions that are being asked. When I am wanting to escape what I am thinking or feeling I try to hold my seat by grabbing onto the impermanence of it . I also find that asking myself if there is truth in what I’m thinking or feeling is very helpful. Sometimes it is partially true and sometimes it’s totally untrue! In which case I can shift my perception of what I’m experiencing or drop it altogether.
Dear Tammy, So appreciating you and your reflections! I love asking "what else is true," after I think anything is true. So many things are true at the same time. I find this practice we share to be so enlivening! Blessings, Koshin
I have been working with chronic pain. In our culture, we often get the message to take a pill to stop the pain. We have medicine cabinets full of anti inflammatory medications, analgesics, and sleep aids. Instead of grabbing medication, I have been becoming curious about the pain in my hips and legs. When is it most intense? When does it subside? What is my reaction to the pain subsiding? One thing I have been saying to myself is: Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.